Drugs and Doctors, Booze and Blood
by Shady LaBartram
Summary: <html><head></head>A ruthless serial rapist and murderer is terrorizing the lower east side and SVU is struggling to draw any conclusions or leads. Cragen/Huang slash.</html>
1. The Doomsday Doctor

**Drugs and Doctors, Booze and Blood**

_**Disclaimer: not mine.**_

_**A/N: This story contains graphic violence, including rape and murder, detailed description of consensual and not-so consensual sex including gay sex, among other dirty things such as drugs, booze, and naughty nature such as desecration of certain religions. Oh, and foul language. Ye have been warned. **_

Chapter One: The Doomsday Doctor

She turned out her pockets to find two nickles, six pennies, and a crumpled up note from 5th period. She could not take a cab today. Her apartment was not far, straight down Broad Street, a left onto Pearl, past the Brittish Gardens at Hannover Square and then directly on the right. It wouldn't be a long walk and it wouldn't be an unfamiliar one but before she left the lobby of the highschool she reached into her backpack and pulled out the paper that she stole from the library earlier. **"LOWER EAST SIDE GIRL SLAIN, 'DOOMSDAY DOCTOR' STRIKES AGAIN" **The girl looked down to the one image that took up most of the front page: Two cops, one male and one female, leaned over a bloody sheet behind police lines with crowds of tourists, news reporters, and on lookers swarmed around. The girl skimmed the bulk of the article and then put it back in her pack. She looked out in the gray night of the city, sighed, and stepped out the door. The girl did not make it home.

It had been a long night and Captain Donald Cragen had the blinds shut, head down, and his thoughts focused solely on the sealed bottle of bourbon in the locked bottom drawer of his desk. "Fifteen Minutes" he thought and closed his eyes. It had been a long two weeks since what the media had labeled the "Doomsday Doctor" had started to creep his way into the nightmares of young girls and their families throughout his precinct. Four dead, no witnesses, and no leads. Each girl was snatched off the street, raped, and then tortured. Her body was dumped in the confessionals of catholic churches throughout the city with a doctor's syringe through the heart, latex gloves covered in vaginal cells shoved in her mouth, and a note pinned to her naked body: "Repent! This is the trumpet of doom and you have been served a fair warning." Cragen's problem was original analysis from his contracted FBI Psychiatrist, George Huang, who claimed that the perpetrator was neither a doctor nor religious. All his leads were dead ends and his team was getting exhausted. The phone rang.

"Sex Crimes." He listened to frantic voice of an officer on the other line and when he hung up wasted no time to dial Oliva and Elliot, the two detective who took lead of the case. They were needed at Saint Joseph's, another girl was dead.

The city seemed to sweat. Water dripped from leaking fire-hydrants, condensation stuck to paper napkins below lemonade pitchers, and the tar on the the roofs of buildings flowed almost freely along the crevices and jointing. Cragen had no idea that the sun had risen hours ago and as he walked down the street beads of sweat globed up on the back of his neck and trickled down his back. A young officer stood in front of the church, his hat in his hand, and greeted the captain with a grimace and a comment about the weather. He stood to the side and the captain began to open the door. "It's bad in there." The young officer said.

"I'm sure I've seen worse." But the captain was wrong.

He walked inside the church amidst the flashing of the forensic photographers and heavy discussion of coworkers and contractors. The girl was younger than the others and sprawled across the confessional. The syringe through her sternum left a trail of blood down the middle of her torso that pooled at a small piece of paper stapled to her skin. Her mouth gaped with the fingers of the latex glove stuck out. Her body was bruised with a dozen or so lacerations of beatings and torture but she was unlike the others in one distinct way: she was not alone.


	2. A Second Victim

_**Disclaimer: not mine. **_

_**A/N: This story contains graphic violence, including rape and murder, detailed description of consensual and not-so consensual sex including gay sex, among other dirty things such as drugs, booze, and naughty nature such as desecration of certain religions. Oh, and foul language. Ye have been warned. **_

Chapter Two: A Second Victim

Oliva Benson arrived followed closely by her partner, Elliot Stabler, and, together, they walked past the crime tape to the entrance of the church. The young officer had now taken off his jacket and waved them through with one hand while wiping sweat off his brow. They walked in and immediately became sick. The girl they had expected but that was not their focus of attention. The body of a small infant lay at the teenage's feet. Olivia did not flinch at the sight but she hesitated in reading the note attached to the baby. Elliot, on the other hand, enraged, bent down to read. "I am the child of the virgin Mary, you have killed me just as you have killed her and I am now seated at the right hand of the father, the Almighty, who is in himself the Devil." He read aloud and then looked at his partner. "What a whack-job."

"What does that mean?" Olivia now walked closer to the slain and bent down over the smaller body, "Who is in himself the Devil?"

"Hey don't look at me."

"You're the Catholic-"

"No, no, no, don't claim I have any insight into the sick mind of this pervert just because of my religion.

"You're catholic, this is a catholic chuch, El."

"This...freak has nothing to do with the-"

"Hey." Cragen said, "Let's leave the analysis to Huang. Right now I want you two to focus on identifying our victims." he raised his voice, "I want this case closed. 1- P.P. is riding my ass and I don't like it."

"Who discovered the bodies?" Elliot asked.

"Dispatcher received a 911 call from, what she assumed, a young boy saying to come to Saint Joseph's because 'someone has been hurt'. Officer Reynolds was the first on scene and by then the boy had fled. I have Munch and Finn working on the the boy's identity."

"And the bodies? Any idea who these two are?"

"I can help with that." Melinda Warner, the 16th precinct's medical examiner, interrupted and stuck her head out from behind the confessional stall.

"Yeah, how?"

"Well, not that girl but the little boy," She pointed to the baby, "He was most likely killed between two and three weeks ago and kept in freezer. Between eighteen and twenty weeks old, from poor economic background."

"How do you know that?" Elliot asked.

"Look at his left hand. The baby was born deformed, see the elongated metatarsals? This will later cause painful arthritic conditions and can easily be modified at birth. Most middle-class or wealthier individuals would have had it fixed.

"And the girl?" Olivia walked closer to the body.

"I'll know more when I have her back in the lab."

Elliot and Olivia had scanned missing persons for hours before they came across the identity of the dead girl: Tonya Mclean from Millennium High School. She had been missing two days after she had walked home in the dark one night. She only had seven blocks to go and yet didn't make it. They retraced her steps and drew the same conclusions that they had for all the previous victims: none.

When they made it back to the station they stood around the evidence board and waited for grieving parents to come back from identifying her body. They had to ask the hard questions now.

"Ok team, before the parents arrive Huang should be coming in to look at the new crime scene photos and give us another break down on our perp." No sooner had he spoken than the short Asian in a tight sweater-vest walked in.

He walked calculatedly over the board and studied them. "Was the child, the boy I mean, abused in anyway?"

"According to Warner's preliminary report, no." Olivia picked up a manila folder and handed it to Huang.

"I don't think he meant to kill the boy. He doesn't hate boys but one this one died he used it to further his rage. Find the identity of this boy and you will find your killer."

Cragen looked at Huang and then Elliot and Olivia, "You heard him! Talk to Finn and Munch and collaborate. I want this done in twelve hours. Twelve hours." And the captain stormed out.

Cragen walked into his apartment for the first time in four days. It was too quiet but for the solitude he was grateful. He would spend nine hours home and then return and see what his team had churned up. If it wasn't for the damn union telling him he need a break to keep his head straight he would still be at work, staring at an empty evidence board that was collecting more victims rapidly.

He walked into his bedroom and popped his suspenders from his shoulders. He collapsed onto of his comforter and looked over at his bedside table where a picture of his late-wife glared back at him. He turned on the TV. Somewhere between the movie channels and the music channels Cragen took comfort in some late night erotica. He turned down the picture of his wife, turned out the light and stared blankly and glass-eyed at the naked women on the screen while one hand was placed firmly on his manhood. Everything was going well. Just before the moment of climax, while watching two sisters fondle the refrigerator repair man's tools, an image jolted Cragen out of his heated mood and caused him to painfully stop, roll over, and go to bed convincing himself it had been a hard week and these things happen all the time.


	3. Cheaters, Shooters, and Dirty Thoughts

_**Disclaimer: not mine. **_

_**A/N: This story contains graphic violence, including rape and murder, detailed description of consensual and not-so consensual sex including gay sex, among other dirty things such as drugs, booze, and naughty nature such as desecration of certain religions. Oh, and foul language. Ye have been warned. **_

Chapter Three: Cheaters, Shooters, and Dirty Thoughts

"Marcus Howard Flint." Munch walked into the squad room and slammed a birth certificate on Fin's desk. It had been two days since they found the bodies and it took Munch over thirty hours of researching missing child reports, interviewing neighbors, and looking over medical reports to find out who the boy was.

"How'd you find him?" Fin picked up the paper, stood, looked it over and then passed it onto Olivia and Elliot.

"Turns out he was part of a research study group out of Hudson University. A group of twenty infants, all in the Tri-State area with birth defects."

"What was the study group researching?"

"The mental growth rate of children born with physical defects." Munch went to a computer and pulled up the research web-page.

Cragen looked over Munch's shoulder "If Huang is right than our killer knows the family of that boy." Cragen looked to Elliot, "I want you and Liv on this. Ask nicely for cooperation but no matter what find out all your can about this group study. I want everyone questioned, ASAP." And Elliot left, Olivia in tow. "Munch, Fin, you two go meet the family and find out why they didn't report their son missing for weeks. I'll call Huang and get him in here to profile any suspects we may bring in. I want this over with." And Cragen walked back to his office to call Doctor Huang.

He sat at his desk and put his hand on the receiver and went to the dial the well-known number of the FBI psychiatrist but stopped. George Huang was a psychiatrist and a damn good one and his specialty and knowledge of the inner workings of the mind made Cragen fearful. _Would he be able to tell what he thought? _Could he tell that one dream had made Cragen question everything that he ever thought was true about himself. He put the phone down and once more his thoughts fell to the bottom drawer and the bourbon.

Munch and Fin stood at the door of humble apartment not far from the school where Tonya Mclean attended. Fin knocked with an accompanying "Open up" and stood back ready to break down a door where needed; he could claim it was ajar later. Gunshots followed, a scream, Munch's muffled hand-held radio cracked, and, somewhere close by, sirens sounded as backup fled to the scene.

Olivia and Elliot stood in front of Hudson University's Humanities Research building and were they read a room number and a name off of a sticky note before they entered and began to climb the stairs. The door to the room was slightly open and a strikingly thin man with a furrowed brow and arthritic fingers sat in a dark office, blinds and curtains drawn, a pen held poorly in his left hand as he scribbled vigorously in a small leather bound journal. "Doctor Newman?" Olivia asked and placed one knuckled on the door.

"Can I help you?" The man looked up and over his glasses as the two officers.

"Yes, I'm Detective Benson and this is my partner Detective Stabler-"

"Ah, yes! Finally!" The small worn man looked suddenly joyful. He stood and flipped on a lamp and shuffled over to a filing cabnet. "I have been telling the University that it was by-time that they had some serious consequences to ethic's code. I have been monitering and monitering this faculity and staff for years but I have never," He paused and looked Olivia directly in the eye, "_never_ seen such blatant disregard for self-worth and such overwhelming laziness as I have in the bast semester. Ah-ha!" He pulled out a large stack of papers, folders, and small packages. "Here!" He shoved the bundle into Elliot's hands. "I think you'll find the evidence more than substantial! Cheaters, plagiarizers, adulterers! All this makes for a great memoir but a thriving educational atomospher it does not!"

"Um, Professor, I think you may have the wrong idea." Olivia said and deffered to Elliot who was putting the papers and packages back down on the desk.

"Yeah," Elliot glanced crookedly at the stack and then the thin man, "Sorry. But we're here to ask some questions about the group study you were conducting."

"Oh." Professor Newman looked slighted and deflated but gathered up his papers and put them back in the fling cabinet. "Which one now? I'm running three"

"The one with Marcus Howard Flint in it." Olivia said and pulled out a picture of the small, frozen, child.

"Oh. He's dead?" He seemed taken about. "Do you mind if I ask what killed him? I remember Marcus, he was part of my Physical Defects research. He was doing quite well, above the average, and strong. Did he die due to complications with the surgery?"

"What surgery?" Olivia asked. Elliot's phone rang and he answered and stepped out of the small office.

"About a month ago, Marcus's care-givers, mind you they were _not_ his parents, insisted Marcus have surgery on his hands. They claimed they found a surgeon who would do it cheaply but refused to give me a name. I told them simply that I cannot have a physically normal child in physician defects seminar and they were cut from the group." He took a key from his pocket and unlocked his top drawer, "Here's all the information I have on him. The parents were not required to give anything besides public access and publication of health records and data discovered here. I'm afraid that's all I have."

Olivia took the stapled sheets of paper and opened her mouth to ask another question when Elliot walked back in. "Thank you Professor, we'll be in touch." And he ended the conversation for them both.

"Elliot, I think we have more to ask-"

"Shots fired at the Flint house."


End file.
